Page 85 of The Sin

“Of course, child.” A hint of a smile touched her eyes. “You’ve been on the screens all night.”

I raised a brow at her.

“You’re right, I’m sure we can allow an exception for you,” she said. “I’m Patricia, by the way, and can I just say, it is such a thrill to meet you. Do you mind if I call you Georga?”

Well, that was easy.

I followed her into the belly of the Guard Station, into a long, white-washed corridor lined with closed doors. At the end of the corridor, we descended a flight of steps. At the bottom, a second woman sat behind a desk, her rifle propped against the wall.

She stiffened in her chair, saw Patricia, and relaxed.

“Special request,” Patricia informed her.

Recognition lit the woman’s eyes as we walked passed the desk, and I could feel her gaze on my back, following me. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the instant fame, or maybe that should be infamy, but I was grateful for the special treatment.

The corridor forked.

We went left, while Patricia pointed right. “The heirs are being held that way. We thought it best to keep them separate.”

I didn’t ask. At this moment, all I could think about was seeing Roman, seeing with my own eyes that he was okay.

The wall cut away into vertical iron bars. My gaze searched the dimly lit interior of the cavernous cell, and found Roman. My heart pinched. He was lying down on a bench, an arm propped under his head, his eyes closed. But he wasn’t unconscious, he wasn’t sleeping…he heard us outside the cell and slowly pulled himself upright, and I exhaled a slow breath.

He wasn’t okay, though.

He wouldn’t be resting flat on his back, at a time like this, unless his body demanded it.

It wouldn’t take him this long, way too many long, long seconds to pull himself up from the bench if he were okay.

“Unlock the cell,” I demanded of Patricia.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

I turned a scowling glare on her. “Open it.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, and to her credit, she did sound sorry. But she wasn’t opening the cell!

“My husband isn’t involved with Capra politics,” I hissed. “He’s a warden. He’s innocent. He doesn’t belong in that cell.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Geneva.”

I looked her up and down, searching for a ring of keys, searching for a weak point of attack, anything.

The woman read my mind.

“I don’t have the keys on me, and if I did, you’d not be getting them. I probably shouldn’t even have let you down here.” She threw her hands up and stepped back from me. “You have five minutes. That’s all I can give you.”

“Georga.”

My gaze spun from her to Roman.

He fisted a hand around the bars, his swollen jaw half-cocked, his split lower lip curved into the semblance of a grin. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

Patricia was retreating, and I wasn’t about to leave Roman to go after her, so I gave up that fight and concentrated on him. “Have you looked in the mirror? You’renotfine.”

I would have said he looked a hundred times worse than when he’d been torn from me in the hall, but I suspected that was just because of what he’d wanted me to see earlier. Even now, as I looked at him, the exhaustion I’d seen on him moments ago was gone, as if he’d merely willed it to be gone and it went.

But it wasn’t gone, it was simply hidden.

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